Urban Legend, downtime in NYC
by Arches67
Summary: (5th story of the Urban Legend series - Crossover Daredevil - Person of Interest) John and Matt finally go get that drink together


December 24th, I just finished setting up the table for Christmas. Just waiting for the guest so... I thought I'd treat my faithful followers with my last story.

Merry Christmas to all of you !

* * *

A new episode in my Urban Legend universe, Person of Interest/Daredevil crossover. You will need to have read at least the first one for this to make sense.

No (much) plot here (surprise!), but it was about time John and Matt got together to just have a drink…

Beta'd by Zendog. Thank you so much.

* * *

 _Hell's Kitchen, Nelson & Murdock offices_

Matt Murdock's phone buzzed announcing an incoming text message. He frowned in surprise. Most people left him voice mails. Siri's voice always gave an ominous sound to messages.

 _## About time we got that drink. I'll pick you at your office at 7:00. J. ##_

Yeah, definitely not the right tone in Siri's voice…

The message was clear and straight to the point, and no chance to call back; the number was unknown. He chuckled slightly.

"Okay, John," he answered to thin air. "I'll be there."

Matt hadn't seen John since Christmas; when he had been found frozen in the street by John. When he had felt strong enough to leave the subway station, he had thrown his suit in a duffel bag, courtesy of Finch, and gone back to his place. Things had been relatively quiet which had allowed him to get back on his feet easily enough. He had even spent New Year with Foggy and Karen. Then life had carried on as usual, sharing his time between defending innocents in the office and… defending innocents in the streets.

* * *

At 7:00 p.m., Matt turned off his computer, grabbed his coat and stopped by Foggy's door. He hadn't told him about his plans.

"I'm leaving for the evening. See you tomorrow."

He could feel Foggy tense from across the room. His friend was probably coming up with a thousand reasons and imagining the worst. Matt shook his head in amusement.

"Relax, I'm not going off fighting if that's what you're worried about."

As usual, Foggy couldn't help a wince. "I know Karen already left, but I'm really not comfortable with you talking about _it_ in the office…"

Foggy had come to terms with Matt's biggest secret, but it still put him slightly on edge. Mostly because he feared for his friend's life. Matt knew that.

"Do we need a secret code to talk about _it_?"

"It won't change the outcome. A cat is still a cat."

"A cat?" Matt repeated in puzzlement.

"You prefer the more poetic version? I think the verse goes along the lines of _'a rose by any other name'_ …"

"Okay, let's not upset Mr. Shakespeare. I'm just going out to have a drink with a friend, no big deal."

"A friend?" Foggy was honestly surprised. "I thought Karen and I were your only friends. You've been keeping more secrets?" he asked with a sudden frown.

"It's John," Matt explained. This was one of his promises to Foggy; to never lie to him again. He was working really hard to keep it. It wasn't always easy; too many years of practice to be able to give it up all at once.

"John? The guy I found in your bed a few months back?" Foggy winced hearing himself. "Not what I meant," he added quickly. "I didn't know you kept seeing each other…" His voice trailed.

Foggy had never asked about John, and Matt hadn't been forthcoming either. The man was a mystery. Explaining to Foggy that he was creating bonds with an ex international spy was not going to help his friend's peace of mind.

"Not that often…" He said, shrugging it off. Talking about secrets… Matt might have forgotten to mention the part about him almost freezing to death before Christmas. Now was definitely not the time.

"Have fun then." Foggy turned back to his file.

Matt could feel the curiosity radiating like waves. Sooner or later, he would need to talk to Foggy about John. But to tell him what? _See, there's this guy who understands what I do, because he sorts of does the same stuff, though not in the same way_ … yes, that was going to go so well.

"Thanks."

That was a conversation for another time. For the moment, he was just going to try and have a pleasant evening, some downtime from his usual activities, with a man who probably deserved it as much as he did.

* * *

John was waiting a few steps from the entrance door. When he had sent the message to Matt, he hadn't bothered asking him if he was available. The young man was entitled to a private life beside defending citizens or fighting off thugs in the night. From what he had gathered, even though they hadn't discussed the topic, he didn't think he had girlfriend… Still, he was ready to head back if it turned out that Matt couldn't make it after all.

Matt stepped out of the building and stopped for a second before walking straight up to him. Matt hit the waiting man on the shin with his cane.

"People usually step out the way of an approaching blind man," Matt mentioned, a smile appearing on his face.

"Blind men usually don't know where the person they're looking for is standing," John shot back with a smile. Trust Matt to pick him out of a crowd, not that there were that many people on the street.

"You were easy to find. I thought you ex-spies were more discreet…"

"I'm really glad we're on the same side of the law." Matt would be a scary opponent, John mused.

"Not so sure about that. I'm pretty sure the law doesn't sanction part of our activities…"

"See… Just what I mean," John answered, moving to Matt's side.

Both men went down the street; almost instinctively, Matt put his hand on John's elbow letting him take the lead.

* * *

John and Matt were sitting in a corner booth in a bar. They had shared a laugh when both had gone for the same seating space, facing the door. John had taken the seat facing the entrance shooting a dark stare to Matt.

"You don't actually need to _see_ the door anyway…" he grumbled.

Matt had chuckled and sat down shaking his head. It was nice being treated as "normal". Most people felt awkward around him; it had even taken Foggy a few weeks in College to get used to it. John knew about his capabilities and as such, not only treated him as normal, but acknowledged his gifts. Like he thought it would be stupid not to embrace them and put them to use.

The first round of beers had been drunk over easy conversation, catching up since the last time they had met. Given the situations of their previous meetings, or maybe because of them, they had already shared quite a few personal topics. But there had also been defined boundaries that they had, often silently, agreed not to cross. They now found that they didn't need to tiptoe around conversations, the framework was in place.

Of course the second round of beers loosened tongues, reduced inhibitions.

"Hell's Kitchen has been through so many bad times and I can help. Certainly not enough, but every little gesture can make a difference," Matt said.

"How did you start? You didn't just wake up one morning and decided to act."

"How did _you_ start," Matt countered. "From whatever shady organization you worked for..." He chuckled as John's heart jumped a bit. "Not going there, don't worry. I think I got the ' _if I tell you, I'll need to kill you_ ' part."

"Yeah, I'd hate to do that," John deadpanned.

"You could always try, of course," Matt answered; trying and failing to suppress a grin.

It would be an interesting meeting they both thought. They were more than a match; the outcome impossible to predict. In a "real" fight, John would probably only get the upper hand because he had no qualms using a gun; Matt only believed in his body strength.

John took a swig of his beer.

"I was going through a rough patch," he started. _If you considered drinking yourself to death was a rough patch vs plain suicide_ … "Finch bailed me out."

For a moment there was only silence following John's revelation. But then Matt burst out laughing.

"Your talent for shortcuts is amazing. I'm a lawyer, I like to draw out stories, insist on finer points that most would consider irrelevant." He couldn't help notice how John reacted to the last word, but he let it go. "So spill it, I want the full unabridged version. I mean, you in jail, I want to know how you managed that."

John smiled. Matt was persistent, he wouldn't let go, and was clearly a bit curious too about that story.

"I was minding my own business in the subway. Just me and Mr. Johnny Walker, or one of his relatives anyway; I usually went for the cheapest stuff I could get my hands on. Those punks thought they could have fun with the bum. I didn't want to fight, I tried hard not to retaliate, but sometimes you just have no choice."

"They probably weren't a match for you anyway."

"No. Pure amateurs. So of course, it backfired. According to the officer that was assigned my case," his voice hitched a bit, but he recovered quickly, "I should have let them throw in a few more punches."

He drank some more beer. He didn't want to talk about Carter. He didn't want to think about Carter, especially not in front of Mr. _I can detect a lie just by the way you breathe._

Matt couldn't help empathize with the wave of sadness that poured from John. It had started when he had mentioned the detective. Obviously there was more to that meeting than John was letting on. Still, he wouldn't ask about this. Sharing experiences was one thing, starting to share emotions and feelings was definitely a step up that none of them was ready to take yet. He didn't acknowledge the hesitation and waited for John to carry on with the story.

"Of course, lifting my prints didn't help my case."

"You had a record?"

"You can't always be wearing gloves…"

"But they had just that, right? Prints, no face to match." Matt mused for a few seconds. "Not enough elements to make a case."

"Enters, Finch…"

"Yes, I can see how a few good lawyers would turn the case around. You've been assaulted, the security cameras prove it; they have nothing strong enough to charge you with."

"And I walked out the front door before the detective could even start asking me the real questions."

"So that's how you started working together? Your way of repaying him? I mean, you obviously didn't have the money at that time."

"At that time?" John repeated.

"Well, you clearly don't seem to have serious cash flow issues now."

John opened his mouth to ask, then just let it slide. Matt was way too perceptive.

"No. It turned out Finch had been studying me for a long time. He needed a partner with the right skills…"

"He's the brains, you're the muscle," Matt stated.

"Basically."

"Of course, that still doesn't tell me how _he_ gets the information." He laughed out loud feeling John tense up. "Not going there, I know…" He shook his head in amusement. "And don't give me that look. Someday I'll find out, John. I definitely will…" he promised softly.

"Yeah, you probably will," John whispered. But that could be a very dangerous path.

He took a swig of the bottle, signaled the waitress to bring more, and just sat looking at Matt, waiting.

The silence stretched, then Matt asked, "What?"

John raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"My turn, I guess," Matt admitted in a sheepish voice.

The waitress put down glasses and Matt frowned.

"What did you order us?" he asked.

"Of course, you can tell the difference between a bottle and a glass," John grumbled.

"There are actually four glasses…" Matt explained a bit confused.

"If I hadn't witnessed the downside of those super senses, I think I'd be jealous."

"What did you order?"

"You can't tell?"

Matt scoffed and focused on the smells on their table. "Beer and whisky."

"Boilermaker!" John exclaimed. "Figured we needed something stronger if we are going to keep dishing out personal stuff."

"Downside…" Matt whispered.

"Wait… Are you telling me that an Irish boy like you can't hold his liquor?"

"Irish?"

"Murdock?"

"Pure Hell's Kitchen born and bred…"

He signaled John to drop the shots into the glasses of beer. Grabbing his glass he toasted John and took a long drink.

"You know, it's kind of funny that I can't drink now. I had my first shot of whisky when I was barely nine."

"You hit your father's liquor cabinet while he was on the ring?"

"No, he gave it to me so I wouldn't shake while I stitched him up."

John opened his mouth then closed it with an audible snap. Maybe he should write a novel about Matt's life, he could live on the royalties for the rest of his life.

"When you told me you used to patch up your dad, I hadn't envisioned stitches…" John admitted.

"To his face," Matt added with a wince. But incredibly enough those were the good times…

They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, just enjoying the time together.

"So, first time?" John asked.

"That I kissed a girl?" Matt asked fighting to keep a straight face. "I didn't think we had reached that level yet…"

"Smart ass."

"I never planned on doing this, you know."

"I don't think we wake up one morning deciding to do anything like this," John agreed in a subdued voice.

"My father always insisted on my studying. There were no excuses for not doing it; my homework had to be done on time. I was lucky; it wasn't hard for me."

"Law school isn't exactly piece of cake."

"No, that's for sure. Some days you wonder what craziness made you decide on that career choice."

"Helping people?" John suggested.

"Is that why you decided to go in the military?"

"I turned out to be very good at it, but the real reason was much less glamorous." John took a sip from his glass. Matt raised an eyebrow waiting. "Didn't really have a choice. It was that or a cell."

"Oh…"

"Yes, I'm not very proud about that."

Matt looked at him, more or less anyway, frowning. "Guess guilt is not just a Catholic thing, after all."

"Sorry?" Religion was probably the furthest thing away from John's mind.

"I had stopped going to confession for a while. When I decided to go again, it was to ask for forgiveness before I… started hitting some guys…"

"I didn't know it worked that way too. I thought you went for penance after you committed a sin."

"I thought it would make me feel less guilty somehow, letting God know beforehand."

"You can't feel guilty for helping people, Matt."

"That's not the part I feel guilty about," Matt whispered drowning his glass down.

"Certainly explains the no gun policy…" John mumbled.

Matt put his empty glass down and signaled the waitress for more.

"I thought you needed to check your alcohol consumption…"

"You already know everything about me, so I don't see how my drinking can make it any worse."

"Is that a lawyer thing?"

"What?"

"The way you've been avoiding answering my question."

John's voice darkened. "Matt, I won't hold it against you if you'd rather not tell me. That's just fine. God knows there's some stuff I'm not going to tell you about."

Matt chuckled. "Yeah, I noticed that."

The waitress put the glasses down on the table. Without hesitation, Matt grabbed the shot and dropped it properly in the glass, looking at John with a smug smile.

"Show off," John whispered.

"I used to hear a little girl crying, her father visiting her room in the night."

John hissed in anger.

"One evening I decided it couldn't go on anymore. It was messy but he got the point… and I realized I needed to use gloves," Matt added with a wince. His hands had been a mess and he needed them far too much not to be careful.

His fingers trailed on the glass, John remained silent.

"It felt good helping that kid, a really nice feeling... And I thought that I could put to use what I had learned in terms of fighting."

"Stick," John remembered; the guy who had taken Matt under his wing for a while.

"I will never kill anyone, that's the step too far. Doesn't always help with my conscience though."

"I still don't get how you manage the Catholicism with your night activities."

Matt winced. He hadn't really found the answer to that either…

* * *

The glasses on the table were empty. They hadn't ordered new ones. The evening was well was drawing to a close; it was time to put an end to it.

"This was good. We should do it again."

"You're right. An evening out, just a drink with a colleague." Matt explained in a slurred voice.

"Colleague?" John repeated amused.

"Yeah, you know." He looked around as if checking if someone was listening to them, then whispered, "Us, the lonesome vigilantes."

"I thought you didn't like that word."

"It's not that bad. I don't like it when they call me superhero."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I'm not a superhero. I don't have 'super' powers. As a matter of fact, I'm blind. You can hardly make it more un-super than that."

" _Un-super_ …" John repeated with a smile. "And here I thought you went to college. I guess you were right about that. Booze doesn't agree with you."

"Messes up the senses. Makes the world spin too fast. I can't keep up."

Matt stood and grabbed the table when the floor moved underneath his feet. John rose, holding his elbow. He moved them to the back door; it was closer and the back street more discreet if Matt decided to feel sick.

Once outside, Matt inhaled deeply then frowned.

"God, it stinks." He dismissed the foul smells then straightened up a bit.

"Better?" John asked solicitously.

Matt nodded. "Let's head back before I embarrass myself."

The two men walked back to the main street to catch a cab.

"Hand your wallets over nicely, and nobody gets hurt," a loud voice exclaimed behind them.

"You've got to be kidding," Matt shouted loudly.

"Shut up and just throw the wallets."

John raised his hands slowly. "Okay, we don't want any trouble."

"What?" Matt asked him in a low incredulous voice.

"Just follow my lead," John answered in a voice so low only Matt could hear him.

Glaring at John behind his glasses, Matt raised his own hands, holding his cane visibly. Might as well do this properly, whatever John was planning.

Hands raised, John turned slowly to face their opponent.

"See. I just invited my friend for drinks. Wasn't cheap, so I really need the cash I have left for the taxi back."

Matt barely managed to change his laugh in some sort of cough.

"Look mister, I'm not no random punk…"

"Could still improve his grammar though," John whispered at Matt.

Matt shook his head in dismay.

"… I have a knife and I know how to use it," the thug carried on, raising his hunting knife.

Holding out his hands wide open, John opened his jacket slowly as if going for his wallet.

"And I have a gun and I sure know how to shoot," he said pointing his gun at their would-be aggressor.

Matt couldn't hold his laugh, then brought his arms down when he heard the scuffle of running feet.

"Spoil sport," he told John.

"Nah, not worth it."

"Well, that was an interesting ending to an otherwise really enjoyable evening."

"Come on, let's get you in a cab before we attract more weirdos."

"Pity we didn't fight him though, I could have shown you some of my moves."

Throwing his cane to a surprised John who barely caught it in time, Matt back flipped once, then twice, added a twist jump, slid over something and barely managed to fall back on a knee instead of planting face down in the alley.

"What the hell was that?" he asked glaring at the ground.

John came closer to inspect the object and swallowed a chuckle.

"A banana peel," he explained.

Matt remained silent a second as if thinking it over. "A banana peel?" he repeated slowly.

He dissolved in giggles and John couldn't hold back his own chuckle. The laugh escaping Matt's lips wasn't fitting for a vigilante, or a lawyer, not even for a man in his early thirties if truth be told. He sounded more like a kid.

"Come on, Murdock. Get up, you're wasted."

Matt had told him the liquor affected his senses, he hadn't mentioned the part where he behaved like ten year old.

"Let's get you in a cab before you make a fool of yourself."

Matt straightened his back. "I'll have you know that I am perfectly capable of going back home on my own two feet."

"Don't doubt it for a second. But what about you show me your parkouring skills some other time?"

"You're no fun, John."

"And you're drunk."

Holding Matt's elbow, John took them both to the main street and promptly waved a cab down. He opened the door for Matt and helped him in.

The young man sat down, his head resting back. John dropped his head with a sigh.

"Move over, Murdock. I'll take you home. Looks like you don't even remember your own address."

"I do!" Matt protested. "I live…" he waved his hand in front of him.

"Right..."

Shaking his head in amusement, John closed the door and gave the driver the address.

* * *

By the time they arrived to Matt's apartment, the young lawyer was mostly asleep. John managed to rouse him a bit and got him inside, then into the bedroom. He removed Matt's shoes and jacket.

"I'm not tucking you in Murdock, you're sleeping in your clothes tonight," he said to the unresponsive body.

Matt groaned then sat up on the bed suddenly. "Somebody's calling for help," he said trying to get to his feet.

"Whoa, Matt, no." John pushed him back down. "You're in no shape to go Daredevil…ing."

"I need to. They need me," Matt almost sobbed, fighting against the hand pushing him down on the mattress.

"I'll take care of it tonight, okay? Let me save the city this evening."

Matt tilted his head like he did when he was listening to something far away. He nodded, somewhat appeased by what he had heard. His heart probably, John realized. Making sure he was telling the truth.

"You get it John. Nobody else gets it."

Yeah, John got it. The guilt, the rage, the overwhelming need to do something, the pain at the losses. He definitely got "it".

He pulled the blanket over the sleeping body.

"Go to sleep now, we'll save the city together some other time."

* * *

The end


End file.
